


Touch

by spaceOdementia



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Beginning intimacy, Drama, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Kaz trying to open up, Kind of light-hearted, Mostly Inej/Kaz, Multi, PTSD, Romance, Sprinkled some happiness in here because their lives, cameos from other characters - Freeform, working through trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceOdementia/pseuds/spaceOdementia
Summary: Inej, Kaz, and their slow ascension into evolving emotion and intimacy.
Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik
Comments: 74
Kudos: 346





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a small compilation of one-shots—probably only four or five of them. I wanted to gradually build into Kaz and Inej's relationship because I was so taken with them and the story. This is mostly me indulging myself back into the world Leigh Bardugo built. It's so richly layered and inspiring, and it gives me yet another excuse to write things. I hope I do them justice. Happy reading. All criticisms, love, hate, ideas are welcome and adored.

Once, when Inej had been lying on the plush carpet in Wylan’s mansion staring up at the chandelier and its dizzying facets of crystal, Jesper had been lying beside her. In an off-handed agreement to be in each other’s confidence, Jesper detailed that fateful day when they had boarded the Ferolind for the Ice Court.

“I held Ooman while Kaz ripped out his eyeball. He threw it out to sea, then stuffed his socket with a spit-stained handkerchief.” Jesper paused, fingers denting patterns into the fluffed sprigs surrounding their bodies. It almost felt like a mattress, indulgent and soft. “I didn’t realize it before, but he did it because of you. It’s so obvious now, but at the time I thought Kaz was just angry at the whole ordeal.”

In return, Inej told Jesper of how Kaz missed him. Or, more accurately, how the _Crow Club_ missed him. Jesper began to laugh until he realized she was serious. Then he began to choke after swallowing a gulp of air wrong.

Inej thinks of Jesper’s words, now. She thinks of the vast disparity between the violence Kaz is so capable of administering, of how brutal his hands will always be, cloaked in the dark, dead leather of his gloves and his bare hands without them, like magician’s hands, long and slender with smooth fingers that had bandaged her arms so carefully and gently. They will always be riddled with death, stained with the soot of leftover sins. And yet—

She catches him looking up from his desk, glancing at her. This is the first time she’s been back since beginning her venture out on the seas. She sits in her old spot on the window ledge of his upstairs office, whether from nostalgia, the view, feeding the crows, or a combination of them all. Kaz, for his part, takes the stairs without a word to join her. She wonders if it is possible for someone like him to be nostalgic, too.

He glances away from her after a moment, face as expressionless as ever, as if he is bored with his view of papers in front of him, only to be bored with his view of her. He scrawls something onto the page, and she watches his fingers. Gloveless, here. No less dangerous.

And yet—she knows how his palm feels inside her hand. A warm promise cradled between them, regardless of the blood always present in the creases of his skin.

She catches him looking at her again, and he glances away quickly this time. His eyes scan the page, and he scowls as though he reads something he doesn’t like.

“Miss something?” she asks.

His eyes snap up to her, and his eyebrow raises.

“On the bookings,” she clarifies when he doesn’t answer. Strangely, he seems amused.

“No. I never miss anything on the bookings.”

She looks back out toward the skyline of Ketterdam. Its deep stench of fish bones and a layer of brine from the sea, soaking the lanes with salt and blind optimism from the pigeons ripe for the plucking—all things Inej doesn’t miss. All the things she loathes. It has been too long since she’s been on solid ground, and she can’t decide which she prefers: the constancy and sturdiness of the rooftops on the island of Ketterdam, or the rocking, roiling of sea waves and creaky, wooden planks of her ship.

One thing she did miss, oddly enough, was Kaz’s complete, irrevocable arrogance.

For now, at least.

“I’ll venture to say you’ve missed no exploit too small or too big,” she says. “The Crows’ presence is strong not only in West Stave, but in East Stave, too. Even some influence in the Lid.”

“We were always going to expand our territory. I wonder why you sound so surprised, Wraith.”

Inej will admit, in the protected realm of her mind, that his voice—the rock-salt rasp, the roughened tone, the gruffness reminding her of him waking from too little sleep—is something she missed the most.

“Not surprised,” she says, shaking her head. “The Crows are never to be underestimated.”

“With me at the helm, they never will be.”

“You still abide by your god of greed. Have you continued to follow the goodness inside you while I’ve been gone?”

He stands up from his desk, coming around to lean against the opposite side of the window frame. He gives her a sardonic look. “My darling Wraith, Scourge of the Seas, the Hurricane of the Isles, Condemner of Slavers and Queen of Death. You know there’s no goodness in me.”

“People call me those things?”

“You’ve made quite the name for yourself.”

She looks at him with suspicion. “Did you have a part in that?”

He places a hand on his heart, but he gives her the barest smile. A rarity, so small and so fleeting. “I had nothing to gain from it, so I’m not sure why you’d suspect that.”

She smiles back. “Liar. You’re helping build my reputation.”

“You were already a legend before. It doesn’t hurt to propagate your skill sets.”

Not only has he had his arms elbow deep in improving her brand, but he’s sent her missives of potential trades, merchers of dubious history, and updates with exporting and importing cargo along the harbors. It is invaluable information when out at sea and rendered unable to confirm or verify changes in the slaver trades. Now that word is getting out about Inej and her crew, some slavers are getting smart. More strategy, more baiting, more defying the odds.

“And you’ll say that it benefits you, too,” she says, gently hopping off the sill. “Or there would be no reason to do it.”

He takes a step forward, and they are close, now. A wall of space, six inches of thick, dusty air between them.

“Of course,” he says. “It makes the fear gripping the streets that much tighter.”

This is still arduous. Standing close, she can see the struggle conflicting in his dark eyes. The want, the horror, the need, the difficulty. It is a delicate war. She places her right hand in the wall of space, palm up and waiting. He reaches forward, his hand hovering above her own. The tension is visible in his arm and shoulder, in the line of his back, in the cords of his neck, only because she knows how to see it and where to look.

His hand slips onto hers, and he closes his eyes momentarily, the shudder coming and passing like high tide. When he opens his eyes, she gives him a smile. His shoulders fall from his ears with a sigh, and their fingers intertwine.

“It’s…” he tries, swallowing against his discomfort. “It’s good to have you back, Inej.”

It is a novelty to hold Kaz Brekker’s hand. Gloveless. Dangerous. Bare. Pale but radiating warmth. She’s better used to it, now, but the power of it never fades. 

“I am happy to be here, Kaz,” she answers.

He reaches forward to hold her other hand, and she lets him. She’s surprised at the increased contact. His eyes linger on hers, the deep, dark russet of his own drowning her with a desire that’s thrumming with life. His face is beginning to become pallid, losing color, and it is not the first time Inej wishes she could help him—to pull away the suffocating blanket of the past, to unlock the prison that encapsulates his mind.

They stare at one another for a moment longer before the stress in his face consumes her.

“Come,” she says. “Let’s go eat.”

He allows her to pull him along, down the stairs, out onto the streets of West Stave. It is an unnecessary action, and the right people noticing the Wraith and Dirtyhands walking down the lane together, hand in hand, would have been a damning piece of information had they been anyone else to be swindled and conned. A brazen display of weakness and the easiest reason to exploit it.

It would have been, of course, had they been any other pair of teenagers. But they are a king and a queen, on land and on sea.

Kaz lets her hold his hand the entire way. 


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters may take me a little longer to post since I'm busier than normal, and I haven't fully fleshed out all of my ideas. Thank you for all the kudos and love! I eat them up like they're my sole purpose for living.

She visits every month, now, when she docks her fierce, little warship in berth twenty-two. She’ll appear on his window ledge, or she’ll leave a letter on his desk in his downstairs office in the Slat with a new, shiny piece of information about a slaver or merchant.  
  
He anticipates when she arrives, always having a crow with an eye on the port. He knows the times she docks, and he’s never surprised when she appears quietly from the immersion of darkness and into the moonlight of his third floor office.  
  
“The Wraith shows herself,” he greets her that evening, walking past her to his rooms. “You found Ydel Adesanya.”  
  
It isn’t a question. He knows she sunk his ship, transporting all the indentured civilians from his holding cells to her open dock. What she did to Adesanya, however...  
  
“I did,” she says softly. “He will never steal children or grisha from their homes again.”  
  
Kaz’s lips quirk. “No details?”  
  
“I’m sure your imagination is much more interesting than the true tale,” she says.  
  
“Not with you.”  
  
She leans against the doorjamb to his room. A kerosene lamp emanates a soft, yellow glow from the corner table. It illuminates Kaz’s face just enough for her to see his eyes, the rest of him flickering with shadow. She watches as he begins to unbutton his cuffs.  
  
“Maybe I’ll tell you another time,” she says, averting her eyes when he begins to undo his collar. “I’m going to sleep in my room.”  
  
“No, you’re not.”  
  
Her eyes dart up to his. They are the color of bitter, tempered dark chocolate.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“The room you used to have is now Roeder’s. It was vacant most of the time, and he climbed his way into my good graces. It was a waste of space.”  
  
Inej shifts a bit, unsure how annoyed or angry she should be at Kaz willingly giving her room away to the man he reportedly didn’t want as a replacement for her. Her crossed arms tighten across her chest.  
  
“You told me you didn’t want another spider.”  
  
Kaz shrugs, loosening and pulling off his tie. “He was persistent, and he worked harder than the rest of them. That’s not saying much, but I must reward where it’s warranted, or else I’d continue breeding their lack of ambition. Half of them still complain too much for my liking.”  
  
She frowns, glancing away from him. She feels a little stab in her heart at the loss. “Fine, then. I’ll sleep at Wylan’s. I’m sure he has enough room for me.”  
  
She turns to slip away and is surprised to hear Kaz’s rebuttal.  
  
“Sleep here.”

She stops walking.  
  
“You gave my room away. I can’t sleep here.”  
  
“Not your room. Here. With me.”  
  
The words jar her. His voice is suddenly rougher than usual, a harsher rasp against stone, and when she looks at him over her shoulder, he avoids her gaze. He unbuttons the rest of his dress shirt.  
  
“I...” she begins. She glances at the only bed he must be referring to, which is his own. There is no couch or other cushions, and she’s struck enough to think he may mean his office table in the front room. “You mean, your bed?”  
  
“I don’t think there’s another bed here, Inej.”  
  
She stands still. She hesitates. She eyes the mattress where his body lies and the pillow that holds his head. To sleep beside him in the dark cradle of his room, to be so near him. The vulnerability of it is overwhelming.  
  
She takes a breath. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Then go sleep in Wylan’s mansion. Lie your head on the goose feathered pillows and wear your silk robes,” Kaz answers, peeling off his shirt and throwing it onto the empty wash bin. “Just remember I offered.”

He walks around to the other side of the bed, sitting and taking off his shoes. His back is to her, and she watches the movements of his shoulder blades. If she rejects this, will he ever ask her again? Will this opening be shut forever, or will he give her a chance to try on another evening when she is better prepared for it?

She realizes with a start that she is afraid. She is frightened of such a mundane task. It is not so different as sitting beside him for hours on rooftops, staking out patrols and watching the movements of their next mark.

The lines of his back ripple in the lamplight. It’s because he’s Kaz. Her mind immediately dashes back in time to when he first broached the topic of the Ice Court, telling her they would be kings and queens, his bright, flashing smile, his obliviousness to her reaction when he undressed.

It’s the same. He’ll probably tell her to avoid dirtying the floor with her clothes or some other such nonsense, caring little about her immodesty, not giving her a second glance.

He is only Kaz, she tells herself, disrobing to her tank top and shorts underneath her journeying attire. But he is _Kaz_ , her mind roars. She attempts to call upon Nina’s unapologetic confidence and swagger.

“I’ll stay with you,” she says, her tone much softer and less confident than she’d hoped. Kaz doesn’t look up to her, instead going to a trunk that sits across the room.

“You can sleep under the bedsheets,” he states, pulling out a knitted throw blanket from the trunk. It looks ragged, old, and frayed along the edges. Then he goes to turn off the lamp. “I’ll sleep on top.”

It makes the situation much less precarious, and yet her stomach knots. “Okay,” she says.

She pulls back the sheets and climbs in, the mattress bowing with her weight. She does not get physically close enough to him to know his scent, but in the flash of a second she is ensconced by him. She breathes in the sharp cleanliness of ivory soap and the rich undertone of earthiness, and she thinks of pastures, bright green flatlands and blue skies. There is no stench of Ketterdam on the pillow, none of the dense smog, dirty ports, fish, sea salt or mud. Inej closes her eyes for a moment and is transported to a different place, another home profoundly embedded somewhere inside of him that he shoves away.  
  
She feels Kaz’s weight on the bed, and she glances over to him. He’s pulling the blanket over his body and adjusting the pillow behind him. His face is inscrutable, but she notices him swallow and the graceless jerks in his motions.  
  
“Tell me if this is too much.”  
  
“It’s not,” he says, harshly and quickly. He stares at the ceiling, eyes glinting with the moonlight streaming in from the far window. He breathes out. “It’s not.”  
  
“I’ll tell you if it’s too much for me.”  
  
He turns his head to look at her, and though they are both obscured, his gaze makes the hair rise on her forearms and the back of her neck. Their color is not as severe with the white glow of the moon, and they are almost the inky blue of the night sky.  
  
“We both have our demons, and we’re both good at keeping them,” he says. “I’ll never ask you to show them to me. It wouldn’t change anything. It won’t help anything. But if you ever needed it, I’ll gladly be the one you give them to.”  
  
She watches him, the words burrowing into her skin like his scent in her nose. This is how he holds her without hands, she thinks. He wraps her up in his bedsheets. He stares at her in the midnight hours. He keeps her as near to him as a boy like him can.  
  
“I know. I will,” she says, and she gives him an earnest look. “I hope you would do the same.”  
  
“You already know them.”  
  
“I don’t know enough,” she says, and she sees his chest rise in a deep breath. She knows she is asking a lot from him—is continuing to ask a lot from him—but Kaz Brekker is full of hidden corners, winding hallways, deep cathedrals. She will know them all.  
  
When she wakes, they have migrated closer. They are on their sides facing each other. His breath hits her face with warm, slow puffs.  
  
The planes of his face are set into a scowl even in the throes of sleep. What does a mind like his dream about? What could she do, she wonders, to smooth his brow? To soften his nightmares? To wriggle her way into those unreachable places? It is an impossible feat, but Inej finds herself wanting to reach them regardless.  
  
Her life has been a myriad of impossible feats, of improbable situations and remarkable heists. It has been a tightrope—a high wire. Because of this, the impossible feat of Kaz Brekker does not deter her as it should.  
  
She admires him freely while his eyes remain closed in sleep. She follows the hard lines of his jaw, his neck, and his shoulders, down to the top of his chest where the blanket has fallen. Scars litter him like hash marks, and her eyes snag again on the _R_ inked into his bicep. His bare hand rests in the space between them, almost alighting against her torso. She bookmarks the things she wants to know and the questions to ask before he awakens. Before he sees her in the sleepy dim light of the dawn.  
  
Before he smiles at her, and before she smiles back.


	3. iii.

The ruthless Bastard of the Barrel is shrouded under the cover of night, lying prone with his long glass in hand. The best vantage point of the mercher’s mansion is at the southeastern angle, one window recklessly exposed with a view straight into his master bedroom.

The Wraith is beside him, staking out the area. While it has been a few months since they’ve done something so normal together, nothing has changed. It is with shocking ease that they fall back into their roles—him telling her of the mercher’s desperate, dark deeds and her telling him the simplest route she can take to infiltrate his rooms.

There is nothing like this. He knew how much different it would be without her there by his side, but now that she’s landed for a week or two, he realizes with a raw intensity how much he craves her presence when she’s away.

“Shall I go in before or after his lady leaves him?” she asks, nodding toward the two figures walking along the side street below them, turning onto the sidewalk that will lead to the mansion. They proclaim their affection with kisses, and a braying laugh from the woman floats up to their perch.

“Depending on how involved they are with each other,” Kaz says, bringing the long glass down from his eyes. “During.”

He feels Inej’s dissatisfied stare. “I don’t need them to be distracted with one another. That’s unnecessary and…an invasion of privacy.”

“You asked,” he says. At the look on her face, he shrugs. “Either way, it would be child’s play for you.”

She readjusts her position on the eaves of the roof. “I’ll wait.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time. They can’t seem to find his house.”

“If you eat the fruit of your ways, you will become the fruit of your schemes, Kaz. You’re not one to indulge in the impractical, and it would be if I snuck into their rooms while they...” she trails.

“Oh, Inej, I’m surprised I’m not the fruit of them, already. Why would I want you to infiltrate the place when you’re at your most uncomfortable?”

She peers at him. Her warm, brown eyes are sharp with skepticism. “I wouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

“Are you so certain, Wraith?”

She narrows her glare at him, her eyebrows knitting together. Kaz likes to annoy her this way. Snaking under her saintly skin.

When the light turns on in the bedroom, Inej nods and Kaz places the long glass to his eyes once more. After a moment, he hands it to Inej. She gives him a dubious look.

“It’s what we thought,” he says.

As she peeks though the long glass, it takes her a moment to find the right view. When she does, her lips screw up and she sighs.

“Oh,” she mutters. The lights begin to turn down enough to darken the window, and she lowers the long glass. She bites the inside of her lip. “Maybe it won’t last as long as you think.”

Kaz eyes her, analyzing the bluntness of her statement. She can’t hide her frown before she looks up at him.

“What’s your estimate?” he asks.

“Ten minutes, give or take.”

“And if she actually cares for the bastard?”

She turns away from his stare, glancing out toward the statue of Ghezen. They are a mere three blocks away from the church, and the specter of it is bold and preening. “They will keep the lights low, and she will lie with him all night.”

Her voice is soothing like a gentle stream, soft and steady. It doesn’t waver, yet Kaz still imagines the Menagerie. He thinks of all the things he doesn’t quite know. Stealing glimpses of Inej here, on the rooftop, he thinks of how she’s lain beside with him all of these nights since the first, whenever she comes to visit. He thinks of the warmth she leaves in the sheets, even after she disappears to the sea. He sleeps on her side when she’s gone. There is no logical reason for it other than touching the shadow of her ghost. He thinks of her when he lies awake at night, spending the dreamless hours pulling apart the ways she works, exploring the cobwebbed corners of her dark, neglected rooms. She is like the first magic tricks he witnessed. She beckons for her mysteries to be unraveled.

He doesn’t know them. He can’t know them until she opens the doors on her own.

He thinks about doing to her what the mercher is doing to his lady in the bed of a mansion. He thinks about doing _more._

It is no different beside her now, wading in the witching hours of night. Ketterdam continues to teem with life and lights and laughter. She is still and soft and brief—the juxtaposition of the city. She is a challenge, a puzzle box. Kaz wants to twist her pieces until she buckles for him.

He can’t know her until he allows her to explore his shadows, too. Unabashedly. Wholly.

He glances down at his watch. Ten minutes. He has ten minutes.

“My brother’s name was Jordan.” He glances toward the ports, then down to the stragglers on the streets. Some are dressed in Komedie Brute regalia. “I only ever knew him as Jordie. He died during the plague.”

It’s hard to say these things—much harder than it should be. Only three sentences in, and he feels like he’s swallowed glue, congealing along his vocal cords.

“I came down with the plague, too. I don’t remember most of it, just that I clung to Jordie, waiting for it to be over. I didn’t know he was dead until—”

The glue thickens. The tides rise. His jaw tightens. He glares at the mansion and the darkened window of the mansion bedroom.

There is a slow shuffle beside him, and he feels the brush of Inej’s shoulder on his arm. At the contact, his body stiffens.

“Go on,” she murmurs. At her words, his voice thaws.

“They shoved me onto the Reaper’s Barge, and I was stuck with dead bodies. I was surrounded. I waited to die, but death never came, and I called out for anyone to hear me. The bodies—” He shuts his eyes, but he sees the bloat and the flesh and the rising waves. His stomach lurches with disgust and nausea, but Inej does not move her shoulder away from him, and he focuses on the contact. It is suddenly his only tether. His mind wildly grasps it, digs its fingers into her.

“I used Jordie to get back to Ketterdam. He was my raft.” An ugly smile curls his lips, because the gurgle of laughter is caught in the glue of his throat. “Then I let him go and pushed him back out to sea.”

The silence between them is vast. It eats at his heart. He breathes out and realizes he is shaking, just a minor earthquake under his skin. It’s another minute before he notices that Inej’s entire side is against him, and how can that be? How can he not notice when this happened, when he can feel her touch miles away?

“That was your second birth,” she whispers. Her voice is a reprieve. He drinks it in, and the tremors begin to calm. “That’s how you started.”

“And Pekka couldn’t even remember his name,” Kaz says, his tone gruff and rigid. He continues glaring at the mansion window. Hasn’t it been ten minutes, yet?

“Kaz,” Inej beckons.

It takes him a moment before he looks at her. She is close— _so close._ Their lips can’t be two inches from each other, and if only—if only he could dip forward. Brush them together. A graze, the barest friction. Are they as soft as her eyes?

She saves him from the shame of receiving her pity. She is merely staring at him. It’s a deep, _soul-searching_ look, she might say. She _would_ say.

His mind is fraying with a blister of fever. He tries to look away, but he can’t.

“There was one man,” she begins. “One man who had seen me perform with my family. He saw me on the wire. He smelled like vanilla. He smiled at me like we shared a secret. He was my worst client, because I couldn’t escape my body. He had trapped me with his words, with memories of the past, and I couldn’t vanish. I couldn’t sink into the sheets and become nothing.” Inej finally looks away from him this time. “When a man spends that much coin, he thinks he’s earned the right to do whatever he wants. That’s what I’d learned. Nobody told me they had a right to cage me, to bar my spirit while they picked my body apart.”

Kaz stares at her profile. The lines of her face curve like practiced strokes on a painting. Kaz flexes his hands.

“What was his name?”

She shakes her head. “No, Kaz.”

It sounds like a reprimand. He growls. “What was it?”

She nods her head, gesturing. “Look.”

Kaz reluctantly follows her gaze. The bedroom’s light is dim, a soft glow used as to not wake up sleeping company. A feminine silhouette passes the window. Inej turns to him. “I told you. Ten minutes.” She flashes a bright smile at him, and Kaz wonders how she can do that. How she can make light of something that has burrowed an untouchable scar of pain inside of her.

She gets up from her perch, and he follows her down a fire escape. They make their way quickly to their parting intersection.

“I’ll meet you in your room at the Slat,” she says, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“Wait,” Kaz calls before she vanishes. He runs his hand through his hair, messily crowding it along his forehead, and loosens his collar. He looks up at her with widened eyes. “How do I look?”

She appraises him. “Like a filthy pickpocket.”

“What, I can’t look like an innocent Samaritan?”

Inej laughs, then turns away into the night.

It’s only after Kaz bumps into the mercher’s lady, stealing the pouch of diamonds she left in her thousand kruge purse, bought with artificial love, that he notices the entirety of his right side is ablaze, remembering the pressure of Inej curled up against him. For once, it does not precipitate the cold rush of dead tides.

It begins to peel open a warm well of longing.


	4. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has the scene that sparked the entire idea for this story. I just had to figure out how to get it there, and it was more fun brainstorming and playing with scenes (and listening to a ton of music to keep the inspiration flowing) than I thought it would be. I really am a greedy slut for praise or critiques or knowing if I succeeded in making someone feel something, and I can't say enough about your responses. So, thank you for the love. I hope you enjoy this last one. It’s longer than the others, and while I still have ideas for this thing, I'll deem it complete for now.  
> Stay safe during this very strange, scary time, everyone!

“You’re telling me that Kaz Brekker has been letting you sleep in his bed every night you’re in Ketterdam? Because he _asked?_ ” Nina says, eyebrows raised, her lips turning up mischievously.  
  
Inej met her in a Ravkan bakery, one of Nina’s favorites. They sipped at their tea and ate their butter cookies at a small, intimate table for two. Nina had hugged her for perhaps five whole minutes, and they had walked around with their elbows locked until they found the bakery. Inej had missed her with an indescribable ache.  
  
Like with every visit to Ravka, Inej is there for business. Fortunately, it is business that can wait. The slaver trade won’t occur for another three days, and Nina had answered her letter with a ferocious promptness.  
  
“Yes,” Inej says, trying to suppress her blush. “But he sleeps on top of the covers. We don’t _do_ anything.”

Nina sighs. “Trust me, I would be shocked if you two _did_ do anything.” At Inej’s frown, Nina continues quickly. “I just mean because it’s Kaz. We both know he’s a different breed. Do you think he’d ever make the first move?”

It’s at that when Inej described to Nina, without any detail over the particulars, about Kaz opening up to her on a rooftop in the middle of the night. Nina’s smile is slow, burning, and radiant.

“He didn’t.”

Inej feels a prickle of heat fill her chest. “He did.”

Nina claps her hands. “You know, I wondered what it would be like for Kaz to love someone. And don’t say he doesn’t love you, because he does.”

Inej isn’t sure what to say in response to such a bold statement, but she’s saved by Nina continuing with breathless glee.

“What’s most shocking is that Kaz did these things, first. He asked you to sleep with him, and he told you about his deep, dark secrets. I’m not even going to try to pry about those, because I don’t think I want to know.” She shakes her head. “I should have known he would tell you, eventually. Saints know Matthias needed all the help—” Nina stutters at her slip, her voice strangling on the words like a rock had been shoved down her throat. She bravely pushes through. “I mean…he…”

Inej places a hand on hers and squeezes. “I know, Nina. He always watched you so carefully. You were his gold. He will always be watching over you, now.”

“Oh, Inej, this is about you! I’m sorry, I—”

Inej hugs her, and Nina keeps her close.

After a few more cookies, Nina begins to smile and brighten, the shadows of grief shoved behind her.

“So,” Nina starts, once more. “Tell me what happens next.”

Inej feels herself begin to blush again, and she would have been annoyed about it had she been talking to anyone else. “I wouldn’t mind being able to touch his face. Or kiss him. Or…” Inej trails. “But I’m afraid I won’t be…enough. After everything, I'm not sure I can be.”

“Anything is possible. Kissing. Touching.” Nina leans in conspiratorially. “Trust me, Inej. You’re more than enough. You’re too much in the best way. But it doesn’t mean anything until you believe it, too.”

Inej nods. There are so many things that are easy to say and yet so hard to accomplish. Nina is kind with her words, and generous, and Inej can’t quite receive them completely.

Now, standing in Kaz’s room, Inej plucks at the seam of her silk, blue nightgown and has a flash of substantial doubt. She feels…foolish. And bare. Very bare.

_Step one: get your hands on that silk bathrobe you mentioned to me. The one Wylan has. Silk is decadent, and I have a feeling he’ll like getting to see you in something so rich. And thin._

_I don’t know if Kaz could be tempted with silks and satin, Nina._

_He bought you a warship, Inej. He will look at you like he’s in pain, because he will be._

Nina had asked her how she wore her hair the first time Kaz had seen her.

“It was mostly down. Why?”

“Because I’ve had my suspicions. Kaz offered you a deal because you were quiet and dangerous. I wonder if your attire had anything to do with one of his ulterior motives. He always has one.”

Inej had stumbled. “Kaz wouldn’t have done something so…juvenile. Or shortsighted.”

“Maybe not,” Nina shrugged. “But he’s still a boy, no matter what hole he crawled through in the Barrel. Matthias really enjoyed when I wore one of those ridiculous Fjerdan shifts, and it certainly didn’t do me any favors. If my intuition is correct, Kaz will be affected just the same, even if he’s as stoic and stone faced as ever.”

Inej fingers the ends of her loose tendrils of hair. It feels too unsecured and free.

_Step two: drape yourself on his bed._

Inej rolled her eyes and refused that one. Nina only laughed and said she knew she would. They amended it.

_Step two: curl up on his bed and act like you’re sleeping._

“That way, you won’t be awkwardly dilly-dallying while waiting for him.”

It’s a rational step, so Inej does just that. She curls up and tries not to feel ridiculous. Never has she wanted to woo anyone, if this is what she truly is doing. Never has she needed to. She still doesn’t need to, she thinks. It is a very unnecessary scheme they’ve concocted.

And even through all of that, she can’t help but wonder if Kaz’s lips are as rough as his voice, or as dangerous as his hands, or as all-encompassing as his scent.

What if it’s all three? What if it’s more?

She is as taut as a knocked bowstring. Thirty minutes pass. An hour. She does not hear the telltale creak on the stairs or his uneven gait. By small, steady increments, her body begins to relax. When the moon is at its apex in the nighttime sky, Inej’s eyelids begin to droop. Her last thought before sleep takes her is, _I’ll change if he’s not here when I wake._

When her eyes flit open, Kaz is standing in the bedroom doorway. He is a statue gazing upon her, and she blinks a few times to get her bearings.

“Kaz,” she mumbles. “What time is it?”

“Late.” His voice is a raspy rumble.

He doesn’t move from the doorway. As her eyes adjust, she notices that he has a deep scowl on his face. He almost looks angry, bordering on livid. His eyes are not the color of dark chocolate, but the color of a shark’s that has smelled fresh blood.

She pushes herself up onto her elbow. “Long night?”

“I had to tie up a few…loose ends.”

She thinks his eyes might snag on her hair when he says it, but she’s uncertain. She shifts to sit up, and the bathrobe gently slips off her shoulder and down to the top of her right arm. She suddenly remembers everything in a mad rush, with Nina’s voice coaching her on the next steps.

But all Inej can concentrate on is the way Kaz’s eyes follow the line of silk. His stare is so heavy, she can almost feel it press on her skin.

“What are you wearing?” he finally asks.

“The bathrobe from Wylan’s. He gave it to me as a gift.”

“You wear bathrobes to bed, now?”

Inej keeps herself from adjusting the lax sleeve back onto her shoulder. “It’s comfortable. I must have fallen asleep waiting for you.”

His face becomes an inscrutable, smooth slab of granite, but his eyes glint in the moonlight. He goes to his basin, and he begins to undress. He takes off his suit jacket, unbuttons his cuffs and collar, his waistcoat, his dress shirt. Then he dips a washcloth into the basin and begins to wipe himself down. This is his normal nighttime routine after a job, though Inej rarely allows herself to be present for it.

 _He’s doing this on purpose._ It’s a wild thought that sprints through her mind. She nearly shakes it away, but another thought follows it just as quickly.

_He will look at you like he’s in pain, because he will be._

His scowl. His black eyes. Is that his pain, concealed behind the creases of his skin? He’s too good at hiding, and perhaps it’s ingrained in him so deeply, it is no longer a habit, but a tattoo. Ink so deep it touches his bones. Inej has a frantic desire to take one of her knives and cut it out of him, just like her peacock feather. For him to allow her to see what no one else ever will.

He turns so that she sees his side profile. He glances over to her as he runs the cloth over his chest. The moonlight is kind to him, caressing the divots of his figure. Inej lets her eyes roam over him, and he might be doing the same to her.

“When did he give you the robe?” he asks.

For a second, she thinks about lying. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, and she suddenly feels the kinship with him, the proclivity to hide. “Today.”

He runs the cloth over the back of his neck. His unabashed appraisal of her makes her heart ram against her sternum.

“Did you decide to wear it for me?”

He states it as a question, but it comes out like a blunted statement, daring her to rebuke him. His arrogance should annoy her like it always does, yet in the dense air of the evening, it spikes her blood instead. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t think you’d complain.”

“I’d never complain about you.”

He finishes with the cloth, carelessly tossing it onto the lip of the basin. He walks around to his side of the bed. They watch each other.

“You’re not under the covers,” he says.

“No,” she murmurs. “Not tonight.”

He climbs onto the mattress, and he lies on his side to face her. She does the same. Facing one another like this, Inej has noticed how his apprehension has improved. His neck does not tighten. His breaths are even. His cheeks do not pale or turn gray with sickness.

The space between them, only inches, seems oceanic. Vast. Like her silk robe and schemes, unnecessary and unneeded.

 _Step three,_ Inej thinks. _Challenge him._

She erases the space, scooting into the invisible trench they never pass. He breathes deeply, but his eyes don’t leave her. Her robe flutters against him, and his fingers twitch.

His face twists into an expression that is not fully his scheming face, but _something._ “What are you thinking, Kaz?”

His lips part before he closes them. He smirks. “Do you really want to know, Inej?”

She tastes the spice of desire from his words. “Tell me.”

“I’m thinking about all the places I want to touch you. I’m thinking about all the things our bodies could do, if we allowed them. I’m thinking about—” His eyes fall to her lips. “How I don’t deserve you. How I’ve always wanted you.”

His words are addicting, and her mind is abuzz with foggy heat. She lifts one hand and hovers above his face. She wants to curl her fingers in his hair and let her palm rest against his cheek. She does neither.

“What else?” she asks.

“Who’s greedy, now, Wraith?”

Her lips turn up in a small smile. “I’ve been sleeping in your bed too long. You’re rubbing off on me.”

“You haven’t been sleeping here nearly long enough for that,” he says. He reaches up, hesitating just briefly before he places his hand on hers. He brings it down to hold the side of his face.

His skin thrums, smooth until her finger snags on a silver scar across his cheekbone. His eyes close, and the wave comes over him, his nightmare, his blackened stain that will forever follow his footsteps. But after a few seconds, his eyes open. They are still black, depthless, and he shudders once and no more.

“I think about impossible things,” Kaz states. “I think about undressing you. I think of you on top of me.”  
  
“We’ve done impossible things,” she whispers. “What makes those things any different?”  
  
“I’m not as strong as you, Inej.”  
  
“You are what you believe, Kaz. You deserve what you expect. You take what you want. You’ve never been frugal with your desires and your avarice. Why be frugal with me?”  
  
“I’m the worst kind of animal. I will never take from you, Inej. I will never make you feel ready to vanish. I will never take your body and pick it apart. I’ll never bar your spirit.”  
  
“I know you won’t,” she says, and she notices that he doesn’t say _spirit_ with any tone of mocking or condescension. His jaw moving under her hand is an unfamiliarity, his voice vibrating into her arm in the thick color of night. “That’s why this is different, Kaz. My spirit sees your spirit. My soul sees your soul.”  
  
“There’s nothing within me to see, Inej.”  
  
Emboldened by his words, she slips her hand away from him. She sits up and carefully moves her body over his, and he turns with her. She places her hands on either sides of his shoulders, her knees on each side of his waist.  
  
He stares at her with the same heaviness in his eyes. He’s never looked at her this way, like she isn’t real, like she is a dream.  
  
“I don’t want you to suffocate, Kaz. Tell me if this is too much.”  
  
His breath shudders, hitting her neck. She sees the artery in his neck pulsating and raging with a tattered rhythm. “It’s not enough.”  
  
Her already loosened sleeve falls further with the pull of gravity. His gaze follows the curve of her shoulder, and he brings up his hand as if to touch her newly bared skin. He hovers over her like her body hovers over him, one inch, one centimeter. She can feel his fingers brush the fine hairs on her arm.  
  
She lifts one hand and reaches towards his face, towards that manic artery. She can see the thin sheen of sweat forming along the lines of his brow and the planes of his chest, but when her hand gently lands on him, his hand lands on her shoulder, on her collarbone, and his face is not cold and pale. It is flushed, hot and feverish. His hand on her skin is the blooming of a flower, fingers as tender as new petals.  
  
He is still. He no longer moves, only watching her, his chest heaving with quick, sharp breaths. Inej takes her hand away from his face and reaches for the one on her collarbone. She intertwines their fingers.  
  
“You can touch me, Kaz,” she says.  
  
“I—“ he tries. It is an uncharacteristic stammer, another impossible thing. Inej lowers her head, leaning in and pausing when she sees the speckles of his eyes.  
  
She runs his hand further down, past the border of the bathrobe. She is slow and steady and constant. His dilated eyes suck her into an abyss.  
  
“Inej,” he chokes. It is stemmed, his voice reedy and constricted, but constricted without the fear. She knows, because her name sounds like he’s uttering a prayer.  
  
His hand trembles against her. He is shaking, shaking, but she lets go of his hand, and it lingers against her. His fingers curl along her chest, his palm fits the curve of her ribs like a frame.

He exhales, and she closes her eyes, relishing the feel of him against her. His touch is delicate. She’s never known a delicate Kaz. He’s been forgotten, and now, suddenly, remembered. His face is awash with agony, and Inej asks, “Are you surviving, Kaz?”

“Just barely,” he breathes. His hand grips her waist, and it is her turn to tremble. Her elbows almost give, almost buckle.

She places a careful hand upon his chest, and he seizes for a moment, every muscle spindle wound.

“I’ve always wondered how I would die,” he tells her. “I never imagined it would be underneath you.”

She leans toward his ear. “You’re not going to die.”

“I might pass out,” he admits.

“I won’t let you.” She presses her hand deeper into his chest. “I’ll take care of this, if you let me.”

His grip tightens on her, and she is a deck of cards in his hand, ready to be counted and gambled for riches beyond measure. His hair is damp, and he is not sick with death or bloated bodies. He is sick with the clawing fever. She sees it in the crazed stare he’s giving her. He tips his head up, and he comes forward the last centimeters between their faces. His lips brush hers like a bird’s wing taking flight. It flutters, the briefest contact. It is shy, almost timid. The press evolves slowly, becomes bolder and rapturous. It becomes risky and prudent, cautious and fearless. It is a bundle of nerves and inexperience all at once. His hand that grips her hip pulls at her, his other coming up to bury into the tendrils of her hair. Her hand stays splayed against his chest, and her body melts down. Her elbow bends until they are too close, too close and not close enough.

Their lips tangle in a frenetic dance. She feels the scar on the knuckle of his lip. His breath fills her lungs. He saved her when he walked into the Menagerie three years ago, and he’s saving her again.

They break away messily, ribcages heaving like they’ve been sprinting from murderous hordes. Kaz is sweating, but the churning, tumultuous fever must have broken, because his eyes are clear and alight with something that is not fear or horror or disgust.

“You have it,” he answers her. “You’ve always had it.”

His heart almost seems to push itself into her hand, the force of it so severe.

She isn’t sure when he managed it, but he’s reached past her sternum, cracking her bone in a gentle viciousness. He’s slipped his fingers around her heart, took it with all his greed. And like all great thieves, he has planted something in the ragged emptiness he left inside her.  
  
He has removed her heart and replaced it with his own.

“And you have mine,” she tells him.

She lies with him the rest of the night, curled up in the cavity of his abdomen. She sleeps in his bloodstream, and he sleeps in hers.

For the first time, he slumbers with a smooth brow, without a scowl and without a nightmare, his dream tucked in the cradle of his arms.


End file.
